“I will do my best to make certain that everyone is made aware of that fact,” said Oyamo.
“Thank you.” Unconsciously, Tighe made a stiff little bow.
“It is my pleasure to help you, Commander.” Oyamo bowed in return.
“What the hell was that all about?” Jeffries asked once they were back in the connecting tunnel.
Tighe huffed a humorless laugh. “Oyamo just as much as told me that one of his people swiped Nutt’s file, but now that he knows there’s a bug in it, he won’t download the file. At least, not here aboard the station.”
“You’re sure?”
“Nothing’s sure, Jeff.” Tighe could feel a sullen anger welling up inside him as they floated back toward the command module. “Except that we can’t keep the power-down going forever. The bastard’s got me there.”
“Then whoever stole the files is going to carry them home, after all.”
“Right. I hope he chokes on them,” Tighe said with real fervor.
Hisashi Oyamo ran his right hand across his burly chest as he watched the two Americans duck through the hatch and leave Jasmine. His fingers pressed against the computer disk in the breast pocket of his smock.
Typical American impetuousness, he thought. Power-down the entire station! Does the commander truly believe that someone clever enough to break into another scientist’s files would be so stupid as to attempt to access the stolen material while still aboard the station, where anyone might catch him simply by monitoring the computers?
Still, Oyamo had not expected the files to be bugged. It was kind of the commander to inform me of that fact, he said to himself. It would have caused great unhappiness in Tokyo if one of our mainframes were ruined by the Yankee virus.
Turning back to his technicians, he barked an order. They sprang into instant activity.
Oyamo nodded to himself. It is well. What we cannot buy from the money-mad Americans or the bickering Europeans we can steal. The warrior uses whatever means come to hand; there is no shame in seizing opportunity. Japan’s destiny is to lead the world out of the morass these Westerners have created. It is the duty of every Japanese to use every atom of his strength and intelligence toward that goal.
Dan Tighe shut down his communications console after completing his official report to Tom Henderson at ground control in Houston. The time was 1130 hours, CDT. Three hours of emergency power-down and twenty minutes’ explanation to the Earthside brass. He hoped the rest of the day would be less eventful.
Henderson had been just as unhappy as Tighe about the situation.
“You mean whoever stole the data still has the disk? With the bug in it?”
Tighe had nodded sourly. “Not much more I can do about it, Tom. Can’t keep the station powered down forever.”
“Yeah, I know, but…”
“Whoever’s got the disk knows that if he tries to run it he’s going to jam the mainframe.”
Henderson had been silent for a moment. Then, “Better pop an unscheduled CERV test.”
“Right. Good idea.” But Tighe pictured in his mind the bitching the scientists would do if he called a surprise emergency evacuation drill on top of the power-down.
Tighe let his feet slide out of the restraining loops and floated toward the ceiling of his cubbyhole office. The bonsai bird circled on its tether in an eddy of air. Tighe noticed a twig springing out from the bird’s belly. He pulled the bird to the floor, secured himself, and carefully snipped the offending twig with a pair of shears from his toiletry compartment. He had requisitioned tiny scissors, the kind suitable for trimming a mustache or beard. But the cretin in the Trikon supply depot ground-side had sent him heavy-duty shears. His bonsai bird hadn’t suffered from an errant snip. Not yet, anyway.
There was a knock on the bulkhead.
“Just a minute,” said Tighe. He inspected the bird carefully, then nudged it back toward the ceiling.
Kurt Jaeckle slid the folding door back. The office was not big enough for two people to fit comfortably, so he hovered in the doorway.
“I want to apologize for my behavior in the connecting tunnel,” he said.